Twilight: The Final Cut
by sparklingdisaster
Summary: Half of any story is the editing. Twilight just got that much better. What would have happened if I had been in charge.
1. Preface

**Half of any book is the editing. The Twilight Saga was poorly edited. This is what they would have been like if I'd been in charge of the editing. No major changes, just a few tweaks. Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

I'd never given much thought to how I would die, though I'd had reason enough to recently. Even if I had, though, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared across the long, dark room, not breathing, staring into the dark eyes of the hunter, who looked back at me pleasantly.

It was a good way to die, I reflected, in the place of someone I loved. Noble, even.

Even knowing that, had I never decided to move to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death, I didn't regret my decision. When life offers you something beyond than your wildest dreams, it makes no sense to grieve at the end. After all, a short, full life is better than a long, empty one.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.


	2. First Sight

**Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga in its entirety belongs to Stephenie Meyer. And probably Summit Entertainment too, but never mind. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Enjoy. ****J**

* * *

"Bella," my mother told me for the last time. "You don't have to do this."

"I _want _to go," I said bracingly. Though I'd always been a horrible liar, this one had been repeated so often that it almost sounded true. Almost.

My mother looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. Staring into her wide, childlike eyes, I felt a spasm of panic, not for the first time. How could I leave my loving, harebrained mother to fend for herself?

Although, I comforted myself, now that she had Phil, there would be someone to help her pay the bills, stock the refrigerator, fill the car with gas, and call when she got lost. Still . . .

"Tell Charlie I said hi," she said

I nodded. "I will."

"You can come home whenever you want," she insisted. "I'll come back as soon as you need me."

In her eyes, though, I could see the sacrifice behind her promise.

"Don't worry about me," I said. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly. "I'll see you soon," she whispered.

I boarded the plane, and she was gone.

* * *

In northwest Washington state, a small town called Forks exists under a near constant cover of clouds. It was from this gloomy town that my mother had escaped with me when I was only a few months old, leaving my father, Charlie, behind. I'd spent my summers here until I was fourteen. After that, my dad had vacationed with me in Phoenix instead. I'd thought I was in the clear.

If anyone had told me then that one day I would _choose _to come to Forks, not just to visit for a month or two but to _live _there, I'd have questioned their sanity. Wasn't it obvious that someone as pale as me needed as much sunlight as humanly possible?

Flying doesn't bother me (I've never even gotten carsick before) and although it's a total of five hours from Phoenix to Port Angeles with a connection in Seattle, what worried me most was the car trip with Charlie. An hour of awkward silences with a man I barely knew did not have me jumping up and down in enthusiasm.

Maybe being the police chief of Forks had made him as tight-lipped as he was, but either way I had inherited it from him. This did not make things easier on either of us, since I knew he was more than a little bit confused by my decision. I didn't feel comfortable enough to explain it to him, however, and I knew that even if I was, he would not want to hear it.

Actually, all things considered, Charlie had been pretty nice about the whole thing, helping me register for the local high school and promising to help me scout out a car. He seemed genuinely pleased that I would be living with him.

Which was sweet.

But it didn't help much.

Charlie was waiting for me in his cruiser when I landed, giving me an awkward one-armed hug as I stumbled off of the plane, tripping as I did so.

Notoriously born with two left feet, I'd knocked over a twenty-gallon aquarium in the police station at the age of seven, scoring a bruised shin, several flailing fish and one really ticked off receptionist. Charlie had kept an extra eye on me ever since.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renee?"

"Fine," I said, knowing he was referring to my mother. "It's good to see you too, Dad." Though I'd grown up calling him Charlie, he was unaware of this fact and I planned to keep it that way.

Most of my Arizona clothes were too light for Forks, so I only had a few bags; while not being particularly cold, it was extraordinarily rainy. Even now, as we loaded them into the back, it was pouring down.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Charlie said after a minute or two of inevitable silence.

"Really? What kind of car?" I asked, suspicious.

"It's a truck, actually. A Chevy," he told me.

"Where did you find it?"

"You know Billy Black, down at La Push?" La Push was the tiny, local Indian reservation the coast.

"Um, should I?"

"Yeah, he used to fish with us in the summers," Charlie prompted. I wracked my brains. Sure enough, something dim stirred in the back.

"Vaguely."

"He's in a wheelchair now, so he can't drive anymore," my dad said, easing the cruiser around a turn, "so he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

I considered for a moment. "What's the year?" I asked.

"Billy's done a lot of work on the engine," Charlie said, clearly hedging. "It's practically brand new--the engine, that is."

"When did he buy it?" I was searching for something he couldn't squirm out of.

"1984, I think."

Not too bad. "Did he buy it new?"

"Well, uh, no. I think it was new in the sixties or so," Charlie said uncomfortably.

Great. "Ch--Dad, I don't know anything about cars; I couldn't fix it if something went wrong and I can't pay a mechanic . . ."

"Really, Bella, you worry too much. The thing runs great; they don't build them like they used to."

_The Thing, _I thought, sensing history in the making.

"What's cheap, exactly?" I asked.

"Well . . ." Charlie cleared his throat. "I kind of already bought it for you." He coughed. "As, you know, a homecoming gift."

"Oh, Dad, you didn't have to do that! I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind," he muttered, eyes stuck like glue to the road. "I want you to be happy here."

I followed suit as I replied, "That is really, really sweet, Dad. Thank you. I really appreciate it."

Charlie squirmed, nearly running the car off the road. "You're welcome," he said, embarrassed.

I didn't tell him that I was pretty sure Forks wouldn't work out. After all, he was trying--and I never looked a free truck in the mouth.

Or the engine. Whatever.

We made brave stabs to engage in conversation that included lots of "ums" and "yeahs", during which we established that the weather was wet and my hair was slightly shorter than before. **(A/N This fanfic covers the book; however, if there's something minor from the movie that I like, I'll throw it in.) **When there was nothing left to say, I was reduced to looking at scenery.

Though too unlike Arizona for my taste, it was still gorgeous: haunting and mysterious rather than barren beauty. The only drawback was the green. Green moss, green trees, green grass, green plants . . . Stuck in the car, I felt claustrophobic, drowning in a sea of green. I was relieved to make it to Charlie's.

My dad still lived in the tiny two-bedroom house he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Come to think of it, those were the only days their marriage had had--the early ones. Parked in the street in front of the house was my new--well, new to me--truck.

To my surprise, I loved it. Faded red in color, with big, round fenders and a bulbous cab, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never get damaged--the kind you see at scenes of horrible accidents without a scratch.

I didn't think it would run, but I could sure see myself in it.

"Wow, Dad! I love it! Thanks!" I exclaimed. Now I wouldn't be faced with the choice of walking two miles in the rain or catching a ride with the cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," he said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get my stuff to the west bedroom I'd had since I was born. The only changes Charlie had ever made was switching a crib for a bed and adding a desk, which now held a secondhand computer, courtesy of my mother; the rest, wooden floor, light blue walls, window that overlooked the front lawn, was unchanged. Even the rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

One of the best things about Charlie is that he doesn't hover, leaving me alone to unpack and get settled. I was grateful, since it's hard to smile and look pleased when you feel like you're slowly being smothered.

I moved some stuff into the bathroom, which I would be sharing with Charlie. Oh, the horror. In the privacy of the upstairs, I felt free to let the tears I had suppressing so long escape.

Stop sulking, I told myself. You chose this.

That night, I cried some more, but I couldn't sleep. The constant _whoosh_ing of the rain and wind on the roof wouldn't fade to the background; I ended up asleep long after midnight with the quilt and pillow over my head and woke up early from a nightmare of being strangled by vines. I ended up thinking about my day tomorrow.

Forks High School has a disturbing total of only three hundred fifty-seven--make that fifty-eight--students. In Phoenix, that was as many as my junior class alone. These kids had grown up together. Heck, their grandparents had probably been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city: in other words, a freak.

Maybe, if I looked like an Arizona girl should, I could work this to my advantage. But I was not a volleyball player or a cheerleader (for safety reasons), neither sporty, tall nor blonde; instead, I was slender but not athletic, pale without blue eyes or red hair.

I had always been shy and slow to connect with people my age. Mom insisted that it was because I was more mature than them, but secretly, I wondered. What if there was some hidden glitch in my brain? Was I seeing the same world through my eyes that they were through theirs?

Eventually it was time to get up. When I looked out of the window, all I could see was fog, and my nightmare came back much too vividly for comfort. I hurried away from the window.

In the bathroom, I gazed critically at my face in the mirror. Paired with certain colors, my skin could be pretty. Maybe it was the light, or my imagination, but to me I already looked unhealthy, sort of sallow. Yuck.

Charlie and I ate breakfast together in near-silence. The only exchange came when he wished me luck at school. I thanked him and wished him a good day, knowing all the while that his wishes were likely wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me.

After Charlie left for the job that was his life now, I gazed around the kitchen. Nothing had changed, from the paneled walls to the bright yellow cabinets Mom had painted in an attempt to bring "sunshine" to the room.\

Over the small fireplace in the family room was a row of pictures; upon closer examination, they were all pictures of Charlie, my mother, and me. The wedding photo (taken in Las Vegas), the three of us in a hospital room after I was born, and all my school photos up to last year. Who knew I looked so . . .awkward . . .in fifth grade? Maybe Charlie would move those, at least while I was living here too . . .

I could tell--it was impossible to miss--that Charlie had never gotten over my mother. It was somewhat unsettling, and I felt a twinge of pity for him.

Even though I didn't want to be too early for school, I couldn't stay in the house any longer. Donning my jacket--which felt strangely like a biohazard suit--I slipped out the door.

It was drizzling as I reached the house key hidden under the eave by the door; not enough to soak through, just enough to annoy me. As I walked down the driveway, I was conscious of the slosh of my boots, missing the crunch of gravel underneath my feet. In a hurry to get out of the suffocating fog, I jumped in the truck without stopping to admire it like I wanted to.

It was clean and dry inside, and though Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it, it still smelled faintly of gasoline, tobacco, and peppermint. I breathed deep, deciding I liked the mixture of scents.

I almost had a heart attack when I turned on the engine, which, to my relief, started right but roared like some sort of tiger.

An unnaturally loud tiger that didn't need to breathe.

Finding the school wasn't hard (like most other things in Forks, it was just off of the main highway) but if not for the sign, clearly labeling Forks High School for what it was, I would have driven right past it. I couldn't tell the size at first, since it was surrounded by trees and shrubs, but it looked like a collection of matching buildings, all built from the same maroon-colored brick.

Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered, nostalgic. The chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building I came to, which had a small sign over the door reading Front Office. I was sure it was off-limits, since no one else had parked there, but darned if I was going to wander around in the rain like an idiot, lost. Maybe I could get some directions here.

Unwilling to leave the toasty cab of the truck, I reluctantly walked down the little stone path lined with dark hedges. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.

The room was small, warm, and brightly lit. I took in the details: padded folding chairs, potted plants on every available surface (as if there wasn't enough outside), orange carpet, notices and awards pinned to the walls, wire baskets filled with paper. Three desks were behind the counter, one manned by a large, red-haired, bespectacled woman dressed in a purple T-shirt. I immediately felt overdressed.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Isabella Swan," I said, and I saw her eyes light up in awareness. Just like I feared, I was expected, a topic of gossip: daughter of the Chief's flighty ex, come home at last.

"Of course," she said politely, rummaging through a precariously stacked pile of documents on the desk. "I have your schedule and a map of the school right here," she said, bring several sheets of paper to the counter to show me.

After highlighting the best route to all my classes and giving me a slip to have my teachers sign, she said she hoped I would like it here in Forks; I smiled as convincingly as I could and left.

Others students were starting to arrive as I made it to my truck. I followed the line of traffic to a parking lot at the other side of the school. I was relieved to notice that most of the cars were older like mine, the exception being a shiny silver Volvo, easily being the nicest car in the lot. At home I'd lived in one of the fewer lower-income neighborhoods in the Paradise Valley District; it was common to see a brand-new Mercedes or Porsche in the school lot.

I glanced down at the map in an attempt to memorize it. Hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around all day with it under my nose. Stuffing everything into my bag, which I then slung over my shoulder, I took a couple of deep breaths.

I can do this, I thought feebly. No one will bite me. **(A/N Oh, the irony. Lol.)**

I noticed with relief that my plain black jacket didn't stand out; still, I pulled the hood over my face and joined the teenagers thronging the sidewalk.

As I passed the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot, with a big black "3" painted on the side. I was holding my breath to avoid hyperventilation as I followed a pair of unisex rain coats through the door.

I followed suit as the two girls in front of me hung their jackets on hooks just inside the door. Both with pale skin, one was a porcelain-colored blonde and the other had light brown hair.

I was going to fit right in, wasn't I?

I gave the slip to the teacher at the front of the small classroom; the tall, balding man gawked and sent me to the back of the room. I hurried past the curious stares of my new classmates, my face the color of a ripe tomato.

I kept my eyes down as they somehow managed to keep staring, pretending to scan our reading list. Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner; all things I had read before. I wondered if my mother would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that that was cheating.

When the bell rang, a gangly boy with skin issues and black hair introduced himself as Eric Yorkie and offered to walk me to my next class. Several people walked close enough to eavesdrop and I hoped that I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So this is a lot different than Phoenix, right?" Eric asked.

"Yep."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"I wonder what that's like." he wondered.

"Sunny," I replied.

"You don't look very tan," he said.

"My mother is part albino."

He studied my face nervously, and I sighed. A couple of months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Only one teacher made me introduce myself, and after a couple of classes I started to recognize faces from other classes. A lot of people asked how I was liking Forks, so though I tried to be diplomatic, I ended up doing a lot of lying. On the bright side, there were a lot of Erics, so I never needed the map.

It was there, at the lunch table, as I sat and tried to make conversation with seven curious strangers (who all seemed to be determined to meet my eyes all at once) that I first saw them.

There were five, sitting at the opposite end of the cafeteria, untouched trays of food in front of the them. They weren't staring, like everyone else, but that wasn't what caught and held my attention.

So similar and yet nothing alike, they were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. Paler than I was, than the other students, they all had the same bruise-like shadows under their eyes, which were all dark. Other than that, they were nothing alike. One dark, curly-haired boy was muscled like a bodybuilder; another was honey blond, muscular but leaner and taller than his brother, and the last boy was lanky with untidy bronze-colored hair. The last was the youngest-looking; while the rest could pass for teachers, his face had a boyish look about it.

The two girls were opposites: one was tall, statuesque, with the kind of figure that made every other girl in the room immediately take a hit on her self-esteem. Her golden hair waved gently to the middle of her back. The short girl was thin in the extreme, with black hair closely cropped and pointing in every direction. Though of course I'd never seen one, she immediately reminded me of a pixie.

They were all looking away--from each other, from the other students, from anything in particular, as far as I could tell, at least. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray--unbitten apple, unopened soda--dumped it in the trash, and walked out of the cafeteria, graceful enough to break a ballerina's heart. My eyes darted to the others, who sat unchanging, as if they hadn't noticed that she had moved.

"Who are _they_?" I asked the girl from my science class whose name I'd forgotten.

Though she looked up to see who I meant, I was willing to bet that she already knew from my tone. Suddenly the boyish one glanced at my neighbor, his face holding no interest, as if she had called his name and he had looked up as an involuntary reaction, for a fraction of a second, then his eyes flashed to mine.

He looked more quickly than I could, though I dropped my gaze at once, turning bright red in embarrassment.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, studying the table like I was.

"That's Edward, Emmett, and Alice Cullen and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice and they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." All this was spoken very quickly under her breath.

I glanced at the youngest. His mouth was moving quickly; the other three still looked away, yet I felt like he was speaking quietly to them.

That was unusual, those old-fashioned names. Maybe that was a style--small town names? I glanced at the girl next to me, suddenly remembering that her name was Jessica, a perfectly common name.

"They . . look nice," I said, my voice sounding almost strangled.

"Yeah!" Jessica giggled. "They're all _together, _though--Emmett and Rosalie, Jasper and Alice. They _live _together," she said, her voice bursting with all the shock and condemnation of the small town. Though I had to admit that even in Phoenix it would cause gossip,

"Which are the Cullens again?" I asked. "They don't look related. . . ."

"Oh, they're not--the Cullens are adopted. The Hales, though--the twin blondes--are foster children."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "Aren't they kind of old for foster children?"

"They are now. Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt, or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice of them," I commented, "for them to take in all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica agreed reluctantly, shooting jealous looks at them over her shoulder. "I think Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she said pettily, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout this conversation, all three of them continued to stare at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I'd have noticed them in one of my summers here.

"No," she said, in a voice that implied even I, as a newbie, should have known this. "They just moved here two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.

I felt a surge of relief and pity. Relief because I wasn't the only newcomer here, and not the most interesting by any standard. Pity because, clearly, they were outsiders.

The boyish one looked up and met my gaze again, this time with evident curiosity. My eyes darted away, but not before I saw that his face was puzzled.

"Which is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked, looking from the corner of my eye. He wasn't gawking like the others had been, just staring as if frustrated. I returned my attention to Jessica.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date; apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed and looked down, a clear case of sour grapes. I bit my lip to hide my smile and wondered when he'd turned her down. When I glanced at him again, his face was turned away, but I thought I saw that his cheek was lifted, as if he, too, were repressing a grin.

* * *

When I walked into Biology right after lunch, all the seats were taken except one--right next to Edward Cullen, the boy who'd been staring at me at lunch. As I walked to the teacher to get my slip signed, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. As I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat; staring at me again, his face was hostile, furious. I looked away again, shocked and turning bright red again.

I could tell that Mr. Banner and I were going to get along; he signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I kept my eyes down on my way to the only empty seat in the room, bewildered by the glare Edward Cullen was giving me.

I didn't look up as I settled in, but I couldn't help but notice that he was leaning as far away from me as he could possibly get, averting his face like he smelled something bad.

I let my hair fall in between us like a shield and inconspicuously sniffed it. Strawberries, like my favorite shampoo.

Unfortunately, the subject of this hour was something I'd already studied. I took notes anyway, not being able to stop myself from peeking at him occasionally. His left hand was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out, resting against his leg. His arms, I noticed, were surprisingly muscular; he wasn't nearly as slight as he had looked next to his brothers.

This class was dragging on and on. Was it because it was finally almost the end of the day? I wondered. Or because I was waiting for that fist to loosen?

What was _wrong _with him? I was beginning to question my judgment of Jessica's behavior at lunch; maybe she wasn't as resentful as I had thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. It couldn't. He didn't know me from Eve.

I couldn't resist one more glance and instantly regretted it. He was glaring at me, hard black eyes full of revulsion. I shrank away, and the phrase _If looks could kill _suddenly ran through my head.

The bell rang loudly at the moment. I jumped, and Edward shot out of his seat so fast that I didn't see him move. He was out the door before anyone had moved out of their seat.

For some odd (and usually humiliating reason) my temper was wired to my tear ducts: when I was angry, I usually wound up in tears.

Right now, I could feel myself tearing up. I tried to block the anger to keep from bawling in front of the other kids. Nothing would increase their staring faster.

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?"

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his blond hair gelled into careful spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think that I smelled bad.

"Bella," I corrected with a smile.

"I'm Mike," he said. "Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually," I told him. "I think that I can find it."

"That's my next class, too," he said, thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a town this small.

Mike was the easiest person to talk with that I'd spoken to all day. He chattered all the way to the gym.

"So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that," Mike said as we walked into the gym.

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one that had noticed. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Yeah," Mike said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I said. "I never spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy," Mike said, lingering instead of heading to the guys' dressing room. "If I'd been lucky enough to sit there, I would have spoken to you."

I smiled and walked into the locker room. He was friendly, but I was still irritated.

* * *

Forks was literally hell on earth.

At Phoenix, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, it was mandatory for all four years.

The coach didn't make me dress down that day; instead, I watched four games of volleyball. Just thinking about the injuries I had sustained (and inflicted) playing this game made me cringe.

When the final bell rang, I headed to the office to return the slip the receptionist had given me. It had stopped raining, but the wind was piercing and cold.

When I walked into the office, I nearly turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me, not noticing my entrance. I pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist and trying not to let him see me.

Edward was arguing with the woman in a low voice. It didn't take long for me to get the gist: he was trying to trade from sixth period Biology to another time--any other time.

I felt my eyes welling up again from anger. This couldn't be about me, I thought. It had to be something else. There was no way a complete stranger could take such an intense and instant dislike to me.

I heard the door open again, and cold wind gusted through the room, rustling papers, swirling my hair around my face. The girl stepped to the desk, placed a note in one of the wire baskets, and left.

But Edward Cullen's back stiffened. He turned to glare at me with those piercing, hate-filled eyes for just an instant. I felt a thrill of genuine fear. He turned quickly back to the receptionist.

"Never mind then," he said in a hasty velvet voice. "I can see that's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." He turned on his heel and was out the door without another glance at me.

I walked meekly to the desk, my face white instead of read, and handed my slip to the woman behind the desk.

"How was your first day, dear?" she asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied weakly. She wasn't convinced, but she didn't press the point.

When I got to my truck, it was almost the last one in the lot. I stared at the windshield for a while; just sitting, not driving. Soon I was cold enough to need the heater, though, so I turned around and drove to Charlie's, fighting tears the whole way.


End file.
